


even in singapore

by gunseldown



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Angry Sex, Established Relationship, Happy Ending, M/M, Making Up, Porn with Feelings, Revenge Sex, Sex, Shameless Smut, Singapore Grand Prix
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-25
Updated: 2019-09-25
Packaged: 2020-10-28 09:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20776160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gunseldown/pseuds/gunseldown
Summary: “It was my fault. I’m sorry,” Nico says again, and what he means isPunish me.Singapore is hot and hard and Carlos is exhausted, but he's also furious at Nico for ruining his race on the first lap. Nico's about to find out just how furious...





	even in singapore

“What the fuck was that?!” 

Nico hears as the door to his hotel room slams shut. He emerges out of the bathroom to face a fuming Spaniard, and instantly wishes he had more armour than a towel around his waist. 

Carlos, like all the drivers after a race as hard as Singapore, is looking a little pale and haggard, but fury is flaming in his eyes. Nico knows he’s been holding it, that he bore it with his usual easygoing, dignified disappointment in the media pen. The German hangs his head and opens up his arms and palms in a pose of abject apology.

“I’m so sorry, Carlito. It was my fault,” he says, not daring to look up at Carlos’ face.

The Spaniard strides over and shoves him in the chest, making him stumble back. Nico raises his hands again in surrender. 

“You ruined my race!” Carlos snaps. “And you still got points.”

“I’m sorry, Carlos,” Nico says again. “I know how good you are around here. I’m sorry.” 

Carlos glares at him, then turns to the wall and slams his fist against it. “Three races in a row,” he mutters. “And you, you had to ruin it today.”

“Hey, hey,” Nico says, stepping back towards Carlos, grabbing his fist. “Don’t hurt yourself.”

Carlos glares at him, but lowers his hand.

“Will it make you feel better to fuck me?” Nico says.

Carlos looks at him, and there’s still anger in his eyes. Nico doesn’t usually like to bottom, they both know that. They wouldn’t do this, normally.

“It was my fault. I’m sorry,” Nico says again, and what he means is _Punish me._

Nico’s watched Carlos struggle with the disappointment of the past weeks, unable to help, and now, he’s only managed to make it worse. He wants—no, needs—Carlos to understand that he wants to apologise with all his heart and body.

“Yes,” Carlos simply says, and steps up close.

He grabs the back of the German’s head and brings their lips together in a crushing, forceful kiss, as he pushes them, locked together, towards the bed. He drops the towel around his waist. He notices now how much Carlos has filled out over the past year, how much the strength training has paid off, as Carlos shoves him back onto the bed and prowls over him, his hands by Nico’s shoulders, straddling Nico’s hips.

Nico gazes up into dark, unsympathetic eyes. Carlos’ mouth is set in a firm, angry line—his expression is almost one of distaste as much as anger, and it makes Nico anxious; it makes him feel small. _Please forgive me_, he wants to say, but the words stick in his throat because he can see in Carlos’ eyes that he’s not ready to forgive. Nico knows he can’t go back now, and nor does he want to. He needs to be punished as much as Carlos needs to punish him. 

Carlos doesn’t even bother taking his sweatpants off, or his shirt. With the air conditioning on, Nico is almost cold lying naked on the bed, hair still wet from the shower. Carlos pushes the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers down and pulls his cock out, half hard. It reminds Nico that this isn’t about sex, not today. 

Still, there’s some tenderness and familiarity in the kisses that Carlos presses to his lips, as he lowers his hand between Nico’s legs. Carlos’ fingers press against him insistently and Nico sighs into Carlos’ kiss, trying to relax into the pressure. He grunts and winces as two of Carlos’ fingers stretch him open, and he feels Carlos waver for a moment. He lifts his hips against the pressure, willing Carlos to go deeper. 

In response, Carlos withdraws his fingers and moves away quickly. Before Nico can make a move to respond, Carlos slams him back down on the bed with his arm across his chest, pinning him down. Carlos holds his other hand up to Nico’s face, the fingers that were inside him.

“Spit,” Carlos says sharply.

Nico spits as much into Carlos’ hand as he can—but they both know after a race like Singapore there’s not much fluid left to spare. Carlos coats his cock with the saliva, stroking the head of his cock with his wet hand. He adds some of his own, to Nico’s secret relief, then he positions himself and presses against Nico. 

Held down by Carlos’ arm across his collarbone, dangerously close to his windpipe, Nico closes his eyes and tries to breathe deep as he feels Carlos forcing him open. His own cock is hard and leaking precome onto his stomach, aching for touch, craving even the slightest brush of Carlos’ skin, but he grabs fistfuls of the bedsheet instead. He doesn’t feel he has the right; it’s Carlos’ choice what pleasure he lets Nico get out of this.

Nico pants in relief as the thickest part of Carlos’ cock slides in past his sphincter and he feels the fullness begin to morph into tingling pleasure. Carlos’ eyes are closed in an expression of concentration. Nico’s not sure how consciously it happens, but he clenches, and Carlos’ eyes snap open and stare accusingly at him. He thrusts deep, Nico letting out a hoarse gasp as pleasure fades back into uncomfortable, stretching fullness that threatens to slip into pain.

A slight snarl pulls at his lip as he grips the bedsheets tighter and braces himself against Carlos’ thrust, pushing back, challenging him, their gazes locked together. Carlos presses more weight against Nico’s chest and pushes his knee back, pinning him down further, as he begins to build up a rhythm. The dizzying friction, so different between in-stroke and out-stroke, the small explosion of pleasure when he hits home, makes Nico’s gasps and grunts align with Carlos’ erratic rhythm. They’re locked together like an engine cylinder, Nico thinks, as the heat builds up inside him.

Carlos releases his grip on Nico’s knee to brush his hair out of his eyes and his eyebrows knit together in concentration, and Nico knows this is right—Carlos, so patient, handsome, honest, turned angry and vengeful for one night, taking out his rage, and Nico wants it all. He lets Carlos push him down on the bed and forcefully kiss him, biting at his lip, but he wants to absorb it all. Carlos’ breath is getting ragged and there’s a thin sheen of sweat on his face, and he momentarily stops to take off his shirt. 

Nico senses the change, and it almost feels like Carlos slides deeper inside him as their skin touches, and Nico finally lets himself let go of the bedsheet. He runs his hand over Carlos’ back, trailing his fingers down the smooth, tanned skin, feeling the tautness of the strong muscles. His fingers dig into Carlos’ hip, and he draws Carlos closer, urging him deeper and anchoring him there. He groans and rocks his hips back against Carlos’ rhythm. He’s fucking himself on Carlos’ cock now, and his own cock and balls ache for attention, but all that matters now is Carlos.

Carlos sits up and back a little, his forearm lifting off of Nico’s windpipe, supporting himself on one hand pressed into Nico’s chest. It gives him a better angle to jab his cock deeper into Nico, sending shocks of dizzying pleasure through Nico with every hit against his prostate, seeming to bounce through his body and vibrate in his skin against Carlos’ heavy warm hand on his chest. He arches his back against it and fucks back against Carlos, and he can’t resist anymore. He wraps his hand around his own cock, but Carlos quickly slaps it away.

“Fuck you,” Carlos says heavily, and jabs into Nico for extra emphasis. Nico groans, presses his palms down against the bed again, lets Carlos take him. With every inward thrust he arches his back, craving the brush of his cock against Carlos’ skin, wanting every bit of contact. 

He can see the familiar signs of Carlos’ approaching climax as Carlos hovers over him. From below, he can appreciate his lover’s features in dramatic shadow. The dark, long eyelashes fluttering, the tensing of the square, stubbled jaw, the thick eyebrows coming together in concentration and pleasure. Nico welcomes it, invites him in with the responsive movements of his body and the little moans he lets escape.

Carlos bottoms out one last time and stops, his eyes shut and his mouth hanging slightly open as his body trembles, his hips echoing their previous thrusts. Nico feels the pulse of Carlos’ cock, relishes it. He touches Carlos’ cheek with his fingers, and almost on cue, Carlos collapses down onto him, curling his face into Nico’s shoulder. 

Nico grunts and reaches down to adjust the positioning of his cock sandwiched between their bodies, then embraces Carlos lying on him. All the rage gone, he nuzzles his nose against Nico’s ear. A warm wave of overwhelming affection floods through Nico, rooting deeply in his chest and making his skin tingle where their bodies are pressed together.

“We’re even,” Carlos mumbles.

Nico smiles and holds Carlos close. “Thank you,” he whispers back.

**Author's Note:**

> Lots of Lando/Carlos material in the works, but after that first lap crash in the Singapore Grand Prix I knew I had to write this! This could have been a continuation of [Teammates That Beat Me](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19733224), but there is some conflict I want to resolve there, so here we are instead. Hope you enjoyed.


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